Sketch the Trees and Daffodils
by ohmygoodnessidkmaybe
Summary: Rachel is turned on by Quinn's skill with a pencil. Utter smut.


On Fridays Quinn came to New York early so she had some free time in the city on her own, while Rachel had her workshops. She loved the city and its little bookstores and cafes, where she'd find herself a corner, get comfortable and let go for a few hours with her creative pursuits. Her Yale classes gave her a newfound love for poetry and art, so instead of the makeup she used to carry, her bag now had pencils, brushes, inks, and books.

When she wrote and drew and painted, she felt like herself. Like she could be honest and open in a way that she just couldn't with the people in her life. Every relationship she ever had seemed to hang from a precarious thread. But her relationship with art and music and words was hers alone. Even if the subject matter kept circling back to one particular person. At least she could process that privately and creatively, without risking a loss.

After getting her latte and blueberry scone, she sat down to work a little, reaching for her supplies in her vintage oiled canvas bag. But something didn't seem right.

No.

No, no, no, this wasn't happening. Quinn lifted her bag onto her lap and dug through every single compartment, but it wasn't there. She had all her usual supplies, her dog-eared Sylvia Plath, and new copy of Stardust, but not her latest sketchbook. She glanced in her bag again.

Fuck.

She glanced around the small cafe, hoping she might have dropped it on the way in or after she bought her latte and scone. Nothing. Just some scattered napkins on the floor and a penetrating sense of doom growing in her stomach. She sipped her coffee and dropped her head back, pursing her lips. She didn't even want to think about the idea that it fell out of her bag outside or on the subway. Where did she last have it?

Right. The loft.

She'd woken up on the couch that morning, after falling asleep while drawing and writing. She remembered the book being open on the coffee table just before she got a shower that morning. She must not have put it in her bag before she left. Wait. That meant. . .

Oh fuck.

That meant it was still open on the coffee table. Open to her latest sketch and poem. Open for the prying, curious eyes of a certain brunette who couldn't ever leave things alone and asked incessant questions while wearing those ridiculous little shorts and button downs and who was a blanket hog and apparent sleep-cuddler.

Anyway.

Rachel couldn't find her book. Her sketchbook was just an extension of herself. . .there were things there she couldn't explain. It would be like letting Rachel into the inner confines of her mind, and that just couldn't happen.

Quinn figured she had just enough time to dash back to the loft before Rachel got home from her Friday workshop.

By the time Quinn got back to the loft, almost thirty minutes had passed. She slid open the heavy door, and dropped her bag on the ground. She was too late. There was Rachel holding her book, and of course in those stupid little shorts with her stupid long legs and stupid fucking smile.

"What are you doing?" Quinn asked.

"I was just looking. . .this is yours?"

Quinn pursed her lips together and took a deep breath. "It's private."

"I didn't. . .I didn't open it, it was already open, I swear."

"Just," Quinn's voice grew shaky. "Just put it down, please." She walked toward the couch and sat down, not trusting her legs. Rachel saw that page. She read it and saw the drawing and now Quinn's private thoughts were out there inside Rachel Berry. The one person who just couldn't know.

"Quinn, it's okay." Rachel held the book in both hands, her eyes skimming the page. The graphite-covered pages she scanned showed a woman, young and obviously nude, but draped with a soft fabric. The drawing had incredibly simple lines and shading, but was just so beautifully drawn by an obviously skilled and sensual hand. There was even a very distinct, flourished "Q" at the bottom. Quinn. Rachel smiled.

Quinn grabbed the sketchbook from Rachel's hands. "How is it okay?"

"It's beautiful."

"No one was ever supposed to see this." Quinn swallowed hard and pushed herself up from the couch. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." She ran into Rachel's bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

"Quinn!" Rachel called after her, but got nothing. This just didn't make sense. Quinn apologized? Rachel was the one who should have said something; she was the accidental snoop. But it's not like she paged through everything. Just that one page. Quinn did leave the book open for anyone to see, so Rachel could hardly blame herself when she caught eye of that gorgeous drawing. It was just so soft and, dare she admit, a little erotic, but tastefully so. And the little poem took her breath away.

She laid back on the couch and figured she'd give Quinn some time to herself before she tried talking to her. She thought about the sketchbook again and realized must be what Quinn did when she went to those cafes and stayed up late when she spent weekends in the city with Rachel. A secret artist. It suited her, Rachel thought. She giggled at the mental image of Quinn wearing a beret at an easel, a paintbrush dangling from her lips. Quinn had a very creative mind and obviously a lot of skill in art and writing. Rachel ran her hand through her hair trying to remember the poem that shared space with the beautiful girl. It was something like:

Even in silence  
Her voice resonates within  
My body, her soul

So simple, but so. . .sexy. Sexy? Yes, Rachel thought. Sexy. She imagined the drawing again, but this time, with Quinn's fingers moving over the paper, smudging the pencil marks, caressing the gentle lines of the figure's body. Rachel's hand drifted down her chest, her fingertips falling between her breasts, slipping lower and lower to her shorts. She could just see in her mind Quinn's lower lip caught in her teeth, the pencil sliding over the page. A soft noise escaped Rachel's throat.

So this was happening. And it was really, really working.

Rachel bit her lip. She shouldn't be thinking about this. Quinn was her friend. Her gorgeous friend who drew beautiful nude women with her own long, delicate fingers, and oh fuck it. She slipped her hand under the waistband of her shorts and pushed her fingertips against her panties. She was already wet. Over art. Well, Quinn's art. Rachel laughed even as she circled her fingers over her wetness.

"Rach?"

Fuck.

Rachel pulled her hand from her shorts and looked toward her bedroom. No Quinn, thank god.

So fucking close. On so many levels.

"Can we talk?"

Rachel took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Just, um," another breath. "Just a minute."

Rachel finally composed herself and slipped just inside her bedroom to find Quinn on the bed, legs stretched out to the side, sketchbook in her lap. She'd changed her clothes. Rachel licked her lips. Wearing jogging shorts and a paint splattered tank top with mussed hair, Quinn was just. . .well, Rachel was still pretty worked up from the living room, and this wasn't helping.

Quinn gazed down at the pages in her lap. "I'm sorry, Rachel."

Rachel shook her head. "I don't understand."

"You were never supposed to find out like this, I-" Quinn pursed her lips and squeezed her eyes shut to steady herself.

"Find out?" Rachel climbed onto the bed and sat back on her heels.

Quinn took a deep breath. "I really like you, and this book was my way of working that out. . .getting things out of my head so I could see them, read them."

Oh. So that meant that. . .oh. So, Quinn liked drawing naked pictures of Rachel. Because she liked Rachel. In a naked way. Fuck. Rachel shifted on the bed, her body growing suddenly warm.

Quinn chewed on her lower lip before catching Rachel's eyes. She felt the heat rising up her cheeks, her breath heavy, her stomach knotted. "It was invasive and, well, dirty, and I'm sorry."

"Sexy."

"Hmmm?"

"Sexy, not dirty." Rachel's gaze moved from Quinn's eyes to the drawing to Quinn's paint splattered tank. "I'm flattered. More than, actually."

"Oh."

"Show me."

Rachel had inched closer to her until her body was to Quinn's side, her chin resting on Quinn's shoulder. "I want to watch you."

"I, um," Quinn swallowed. "I usually have a reference photo."

Rachel's lips grazed Quinn's ear. "Use your imagination."

Quinn shuddered and squeezed the pencil she'd just picked up before flipping to a blank page. Draw Rachel while she watched. A simple enough task. She made a few light, wispy strokes, trying to ignore the warm breath drifting over her collarbone. She developed a basic outline of a female body, and just as she hesitated to touch the pencil to the figure's breasts, Rachel's mouth opened over the base of her neck. Her hand jerked, scattering a random line across the page.

"Rachel." Quinn felt Rachel's tongue touch her skin just before she sucked. Her mouth moved up her neck, licking a trail to her ear, which she pulled between her lips. She was all warmth and wetness and wonderfully distracting.

"Keep going." Rachel said.

Quinn felt Rachel's knuckles moving against her back and realized she was unbuttoning her shirt. "Oh my god." She put her pencil to the page again, but when Rachel's teeth scraped her jaw, the book fell from her grip. At that point, Quinn just turned around and pressed their mouths together.

They kissed like that for a while-tongues touching, mouths moving and tasting. Rachel's hands locked on Quinn's hips, and Quinn grabbed the front of Rachel's shirt, pulling her up against her body. She slid her fingers down the inside of the fabric until her knuckles brushed over Rachel's breasts. She moved her hands up and down, pressing harder against the soft, pliable skin until she finally slipped her hand inside the shirt to cup Rachel, touching her thumb to a hard nipple. She pulled back from the kiss, just far enough to rest her forehead against Rachel's. Quinn tugged on the shirt.

"Can I?" she asked?

"You too."

Quinn nodded and let Rachel drag her tank top over her head after she pushed Rachel's unbuttoned shirt off her shoulders. The sight took her breath away. The line of her bare body, from her neck over the swell of her breasts to her curvy belly…Quinn placed her fingers low on Rachel's stomach and just traced upwards, as gently as she'd drag a pencil over fresh paper. Every inch of Rachel felt soft under her fingers and when she she brushed over her nipple, up to her jaw and full lips, Rachel sucked Quinn's fingers into her mouth.

"You taste…a little like a chewed pencil, really," Rachel said, laughing.

Quinn giggled and bit her lip.

"What else do you taste like?"

Rachel pushed Quinn's shoulders back and crawled up her body, hooking her fingers into Quinn's shorts. And panties. And dragging them down her legs.

Okay then.

Rachel settled between her legs, an arm locked around her thigh, the other draped over her belly. The first touch of her tongue made Quinn's body shiver and jerk. The next, longer taste made Quinn whimper. Then, as Quinn hooked her foot around Rachel's back, Rachel pushed inside her, and Quinn's hips lifted off the mattress in a groan. In a long, drawn out breath, Quinn came, Rachel's mouth still working against her as her body rocked and eventually relaxed.

Rachel settled next to Quinn, licking her lips and wiping her hand over her mouth.

"You have a cute lazy grin." Rachel said.

"Thanks to you." Quinn rolled to her side and slipped her hand over Rachel's ribs. "That really was…but um, I think I want to…" She moved her hand down, under the waistband of Rachel's shorts and found hot, smooth bare skin, slick with wetness. Quinn's sharp intake of breath at the sensation made Rachel grab her wrist and push her fingers harder.

Quinn couldn't settle her eyes. Her own hand moving under Rachel's shorts, Rachel's bare chest rising and arching with each flex of Quinn's wrist. And the soft, smooth wet heat pressing into Quinn's fingertips made her want to taste every part of Rachel she could reach. She kissed her shoulder, her jaw, her mouth, her neck, her breast. She closed her lips over Rachel's nipple, moving her mouth in time with her hand.

"Quinn, I'm, I'm-"

Rachel's body jerked hard against Quinn, who dropped her head to Rachel's chest to watch her own arm moving faster and faster under Rachel's shorts until the girl's body shuddered and slackened under her touch.

Quinn raised her head, resting her chin on Rachel's chest.

Rachel tangled her fingers in Quinn's hair. "So…"

Quinn raised her eyebrow "So?"

"Do you paint, too?"


End file.
